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Like a star.
Gods! He needed to stop this mental inanity. Arthur would have rolled his eyes at himself, but he didn’t want to look away from the man in front of him for even a moment.
Lancelot’s pale countenance and hair, as well as his luminous white outfit, apart from the leather boots, all but made him glow, especially as the noonday sun beamed down upon his silvery head. He was like a white-hot blade, newly emerged from the forge, honed to perfection, razor sharp.
Though he was lean, he was not thin, and Arthur could tell that he was made of hard muscle and strong bones. Sharp angles defined his features, from the slant of his silvery brows, the blade of his nose, the cliffs of his cheekbones and the prominent hollows beneath, to the cut of his jaw.
Power radiated from his body, despite that Arthur must outweigh him by at least two stone if not three. If Arthur was the “Bear,” then Lancelot was…
A stag? A wolf?
But no. No natural beast could fit the aura he gave off. It could only be something mythical.
Something magical.
The man’s silvery eyes were the sharpest of all of his features. They glittered like diamonds when they caught even a glimmer of light.
Arthur could not look away. He was mesmerized. Paralyzed.
Stupefied.
The referee’s loud throat clearing shook him out of his trance, hinting that he’d been still as a statue for far too long.
“Ready?”
Arthur and Lancelot kept their gazes locked as each gave a solemn nod.
“Begin!”
They circled each other slowly at first, simply observing, testing who would make the first move.
As if the spectators knew they were about to see a match of titans, a fight unlike any other they’d witnessed thus far, there was a breath-held hush over the tournament grounds. Arthur could practically hear his own heartbeat as he assessed his opponent.
Lancelot’s body appeared relaxed, his face a mask of calm. But Arthur could clearly make out the hard lines of tensed muscles beneath the man’s tunic and trousers, and his eyes burned with a concentrated intensity.
How did this boy-man best all of the contestants thus far? There were barely any visible bruises on his face. A scratch over his left eyebrow. A red spot on his chin. That was all. Not even his tightly braided hair was mussed.
Meanwhile, Arthur’s ribs were protesting on his right side. A colorful patchwork of bruises decorated his face. His lip was split beneath his scruff, though it had stopped bleeding. And hewould likely need to bind his left knee after this first event was done if he was to survive the horseback race and the melee to finish the day.
These wounds were nothing Arthur couldn’t handle. He’d fought through much worse for extended periods of time.
But he didn’t expect his opponent to look so much fresher. It spoke wonders about Lancelot’s skill.
The referee cleared his throat again when neither men moved to attack, still simply circling and assessing each other. The crowds began to grow restless, and a low buzz of murmurs swept the grounds.
Lancelot cocked his head slightly, as if to say:
Shall we give them something to cheer for?
And then—in a move so fast, Arthur could barely track him, he attacked.
A powerful punch landed solidly to Arthur’s solar plexus before he knew what hit him, pushing him back several feet. It was immediately followed by a swift kick to his injured side and a low sweep at his ankles.
He’d caught on enough by now to avoid the sweep, managing to stay upright and not be felled like a tree on his back. But he was still staggering from the first two blows, his right arm reflexively curled tight to his body to guard his smarting ribs. The sharp pain in his side and the pressure in his chest made it almost impossible to breathe.
But it helped him focus. He would be ready for his opponent’s next attack.
As if Lancelot knew this, he settled back into the relaxed stance he started with, ever calm, smooth and graceful, while Arthur shuffled his feet more heavily to keep his foe directly in his sight.
